


#39 - Don’t Cry

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Series: 100 Ways To Say I love You [11]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Character Death, Complete, Ficlet, Gen, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: Mulder’s been in a bad car accident, and he asks Scully for a favor.





	#39 - Don’t Cry

Nobody was supposed to die on that particular day, or at least, no one anticipated it was something that would happen on such a routine and mundane action. When people in the FBI die, it’s usually in the line of duty. That got you a plot in Arlington. Then the DoD would go to your house and inform your loved ones that you were going to join the FBI office in the sky. They usually sent some suit who hadn’t been out on the field for years. Stiff upper lip, nothing upsets him. Dressed in military regalia or whatever bullshit they put him in. Always a guy.

 _And this is relevant because…?_ Mulder’s mind chastised, despite anything being a welcome distraction from the sharp pain radiating from his chest.

His mind was right though, the thought was not relevant. But was it not natural to ponder about the next unknown, that being death? There Mulder was, barely able to move, biding his time and gathering his strength to do one last thing. He was slumped forward, his chest impaled at a strange angle on a large metal pole which, Mulder figured but wasn’t sure, was from a road sign. He didn’t know or care.

A sign the driver probably didn’t see. The driver and whatever shit he had in his truck just turned over scattering about. Mulder didn’t even know what happened, one second he was driving, the next there was a loud crash somewhere above him, and then suddenly there was a half dead man hanging out of his windshield, and a piece of rebar that came from the ceiling of car, down through the back of his seat, through his chest, just below the left side of his rib cage. He probably would have lived if the airbag didn’t come next, just making matters worse. When he finally was able to move the bag out of the way, Mulder was left with the rebar sticking out his chest, another impaling the front hood of the car, and still another through the back window. It was a gruesome sight, the other driver was bleeding like a stuck pig and Mulder soon realized that he must have injured himself after falling.

The other driver was clearly dead. Mulder had watched him die, holding his hand, listening to him explain that he was sorry, so tired, a husband with two kids, a wife on the way out. Mulder gave him that absolution. It was the least he could do. Actually, it was all he could do because he couldn’t move that much. He couldn’t feel his legs, but he knew that he was a mangled mess.

Mulder had been traveling from New York to Virginia to head back home, after the Bigfoot sighting he had travelled to see was proven to be a bust. He had been traveling alone—Scully insisted that she did not want to spend her weekend looking for something that didn’t exist. They’d gotten into a little quarrel about it, which prompted Mulder to go alone.

Now he wished he hadn’t. Though now with Death taking a longer, more meaningful stride towards the site of the crash, Mulder knew that he didn’t have long. He could almost just imagine the reaper himself, sickle in hand coming around from just down the road. There was no cheating him this time; the fox had finally been caught and now the hounds were closing in.

A spot of blood dribbled down the side of Mulder’s mouth, and landed on the steering wheel. He laughed as much as he could, lifting a hand slowly to wipe it, but thought better of it, digging around his pocket and finding his phone. The LCD display was cracked, but not badly. Thankfully, the number he needed was on speed dial. _Thank god for small miracles._ Holding down the button, he put the phone to his ear, listening to the rings. He prayed she picked up. She _needed_ to.

Scully usually devoted the entire Saturday afternoon to cleaning, housework and laundry. It was such a force of habit that even when she didn’t have any to do, she spent time organizing her things. She liked being orderly. It gave her a sense of control that she felt her life often lacked. She liked being able to provide some structure to her otherwise chaotic life.

As she folded her laundry, she idly rubbed her chest,coughing briefly. She pondered one of the shirts, smiling when she realized where it had come from. Mulder had gotten her a small gift, and though she hadn’t asked him to, she liked that he liked to surprise her with souvenirs from their trips.

Thinking about Mulder made her frown, however, thinking of how they’d fought the day before. She hated when they didn’t agree. She expected him to call her when he was halfway back to DC as they had agreed, nonetheless. It was a habit of theirs that she appreciated.

 _Just in case I get abducted,_ He always joked. She rolled her eyes at the joke, but she was glad that after these years, she could laugh about it. Only Mulder could make her feel that way.

She rubbed her chest again, before the phone rang, and she hurried to pick up. She didn’t screen her calls on Saturday, not usually.

“Scully,” She answered, shouldering the cordless phone to go back to folding laundry. There was a pause on the other end, and then,

“Scully, it’s me.”

 _Mulder’s voice._ It made her insides jump for a moment. Scully smiled to herself. Though she wouldn’t ever openly admit it, she liked the sound of his voice. She figured he was calling to tell her he was halfway home. She didn’t expect an apology, it wasn’t like him. She knew that his call was apology enough. She knew also that if he was still angry, he wouldn’t have called. 

“Hi Mulder. Where are you now?” She asked, as she started to fold another shirt.

“I don’t know—I guess a little more than halfway back to DC. Listen,” Mulder said. He sounded serious. He took a breath and then winced—actions she couldn’t see. Actions he didn’t want her to see. He had slid a little further down pole. There was no way he was going to make it back. The thought was upsetting to him, and he felt a pang of guilt, like he was letting her down.

Even now, with his phone in his hand, and enough energy to say his goodbyes, he found himself stalling. Half was because of the severity of the situation, and half because he was in tremendous pain that made it hard to breathe at times.

“What is it?” Scully asked after an abnormally long pause in which Mulder didn’t speak. She put the shirt down and rubbed her chest, idly thinking that she needed to take it easy. “Mulder? You there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Listen, I’m going to drop by your house tomorrow. Sunday. Late afternoon. I have something to show you. You’re not going to believe it,” Mulder spoke, his voice low, as if he was trying to avoid being heard.

“Okay. I think I’m going to try to go to the doctor this week. My chest has been bothering me. I feel like it’s heavy, like how it feels when you have a cold? Something like that.” Scully mentioned.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder said quickly, and Scully smiled. 

“It’s alright. It’s probably just stress. I’m glad you’re getting close to home,” Scully mentioned, and Mulder felt his body move a little further down the pole. He didn’t know how he was still alive.

_I don’t have enough time… I wish I had the time to tell her everything she ought to hear. I wish I had told her the moment I caught her watching those UFOs fly about in the sky all those years ago is the moment I fell in love._

“Me too. I—I missed you. But… I’m glad you hadn’t come. It was a bust… would’ve been a waste of your time. I’m—I’m always doing that, aren’t I? Chasing shadows, wasting your time… I’m sorry.” Mulder managed to say, his voice wavering only slightly.

Scully frowned. It made her sad that Mulder thought that after all this time he was a burden.

“I don’t see it as time wasted if I’m spending it with you,” Scully spoke lowly, glancing down at the clothes. She was only allowed glimpses into his true feelings so rarely and she did not take them lightly. She knew he didn’t trust easily. And yet, he trusted her.

There was a long pause, and then Mulder spoke, sounding tired. It was getting harder to keep up with the conversation. He had a script planned out in his head but it was falling apart.

“That means a lot to me. You—you are very special to me, and I hate when we fight. I’m sorry for it.”

Scully felt her stomach sink. He had apologized three times now. Something was wrong.

“Mulder, what happened?” Scully asked, and Mulder laughed, even though it hurt. 

“Nothing, I just… I felt bad about our fight,” Mulder said, and when he looked up, the sun had moved and his vision was blurring.

“It’s fine, I’m not mad. But Mulder, you sound tired. Maybe you should pull over and take a nap… you don’t want to have an accident…” Scully said, and Mulder gave her a deep belly laugh that took a Herculean effort to pull off. That laugh cost him. It would be his last one. At least it counted. He felt so exhausted.

“What’s so funny…?” Scully asked, and she heard Mulder slip up—he let out an labored sigh, and then a cough.

“I don’t have a lot of time left, I need to tell you something important,” Mulder said, his will to hang on racing against the Grim Reaper. _Goddamn, I need more time…!_

“Time left? What’s the matter?” Scully asked and Mulder smiled. This was a nice way to go. Talking to his favorite person. He could think of worse ways to go. _But he wished he had more time._

“My phone is dying, and I left the car charger at the office. Scully, you mean a lot to me. I want you to know that… while we’re friends and coworkers, I’ve always—“ Fucking damn, he was hurting. But he had to power on.

“Mulder…”

“Shh, shh. I… I need you to hear this. You piss me off, you challenge me and sometimes I want to strangle you but you’ve brought meaning to my life and believed in me when no one did. You’re my source of strength, even now… I love you. I don’t know why I never told you that. But I’m telling you now.” Mulder said, imagining the Grim Reaper make his way within arm’s reach of the car.

“Mulder, what—what is going on? Have you been drinking? Please pull over… where are you?” Alarm saturated her voice, and it had broken, an indicator that she was going to cry. She was scared. _He had scared her._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m—I don’t think I’m going to make it. It’s too much,” There was a heavy silence, and then he heard a soft noise, like a small sigh.

“Don’t say horrible things like that, you’re worrying me… Mulder, pull over and j-just wait on the side of the road. You sound tired, unwell… You can’t drive like that. Pull into a motel. Do you want to use my card? Please just…” 

Mulder couldn’t feel his legs. He didn’t need them anyway. He could almost imagine how she must have looked in that moment, half shocked, half sad. She hadn’t even registered that he had told her he loved her.

“Mulder, answer me. Are you still there? What are you doing?” Her voice was frantic. Mulder felt everything slowing down to the point where it seemed as though time itself had stopped. He was so tired... his whole body ached, and he wanted to just sleep. 

“Yes. I—I pulled over. I promise I’m not driving anymore. I’m going to go to sleep now. But I need to you make me a promise in return.” Mulder spoke softly, so quietly that Scully had to strain to hear it. He coughed briefly and it was wet, and harsh. His breathing was slowed now. He sounded bad to Scully. More than tired, closer to defeat.

“Okay… what is it? Want me to get motel numbers?” Scully asked, rubbing her chest again. The pain in her chest was ebbing away.

“No. I’m sleeping in the car. 20 minutes. Just do me a favor, promise me--don’t cry. Promise me,” Mulder said, and Scully’s heart sank.

“Mulder, why? What is going on? Is everything okay? Are you injured?” Her voice was shaky, close to tears already. He hated keeping her in the dark like this. But he didn’t want her to think of the details.

“No, I’m fine, just tired. You just sound worried and I’m trying to tell you I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry yourself sick. I will talk to you later when I get up from my nap. I’ll see you tonight. Goodbye, Scully. And…. I’m sorry.” His tone carried a hint of finality to it.

“Okay, I promise… Mulder, please be careful,” Scully whispered. He wanted to tell her that he was careful, that it wasn’t his fault, that he wanted to see her again, one last time. But he couldn’t.

“Always,” Mulder replied, and Scully could almost hear the smile in his voice. It made her feel a little better when she hung up.

* * *

Mulder didn’t call, which didn’t surprise her, but when he also failed to show up like he had said, worry gnawed at her belly, and she called his phone. 

It took a couple rings before she heard, 

“Hello?” 

It wasn’t Mulder. It was a male around the same age, but it wasn’t Mulder.

“Hello, I’m—I’m looking for Fox Mulder,” She started. 

“Hold on, hold on,” The voice said. There was a shuffling sound, and then another voice answered.

“Hi, this is Sheriff Richardson, I’m a State Trooper with highway patrol, for Pennsylvania. How do you know Mr. Mulder?” 

“—Agent, he’s FBI. He’s my partner. Is he okay? The last I spoke to him, he pulled over to take a nap.” Scully asked, playing with the end of her shirt.

“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but there was an accident.”

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“So, from what I can gather, your partner was involved in some kind of collision,” Richardson said, and Scully felt her insides go cold. “It was pretty bad, the other driver was thrown into your partner’s windshield along with some rebar, all from the upper part of the road there. The rebar pole had him impaled to the seat.” The trooper said.

“What hospital is he in? I’m—I’m going to fly over here. I have his medical records, in his personal doctor,” Scully said, standing and looking about her person.

“He’s not in the hospital. He was already gone by the time EMS arrived. It looks like he died not too long ago..” Richardson said, his voice professional sounding and a little helpless. 

“How long do you think he’s been dead…?” Scully asked, slowly sliding on to one of the soft couch cushions and trying to absorb this new information in.

“We can’t say with any certainty but I can tell you that he only just started going into rigor, so it could’ve been anywhere from 3 – 6 hours... and that’s not counting how long he remained alive while impaled. My best guess, he’s probably been out here since late yesterday afternoon. Your call on his phone was the last time anyone seemed to have spoke with him.” Richardson said.

But it didn’t sound right. She just spoke to him. He laughed. He joked…

_He said he loved me. He told me that he loved me. And he wasn’t joking that time._

Her mind could not reconcile with the reality that Mulder was dead, and for a second, she wondered if this was a sick dream. It felt surreal, and Scully felt as though she was watching herself sitting on the phone, from outside of her own body. It _had_ to be a sick joke.

“This isn’t funny anymore,” Scully spoke in a low voice and the trooper sighed. 

“You can come and ID the body,” The trooper suggested, and Scully jumped on that opportunity.

“Y-yes, I would like to. I’m a medical doctor.” She said, before getting the address from the trooper. 

 

When Scully arrived at the morgue, she still couldn’t reconcile the words she had been told with the reality of the situation. Mulder said he would be back. He would be in the morgue, he was going to laugh when he saw her face, he was going to be alive and well.

Rounding the corner, she braced herself for the worst. She found a lone sheriff standing there in front of the viewing window. Inside the room, there was a gurney with a body laid out on the table, sheets covering it. Would Mulder go so far for a joke? 

“You must be Dana,” The sheriff said, turning to look at her. His hand was outstretched to give her a handshake, but the gesture seemed foreign to her, so she did not return it. 

“This has got to be a joke,” She spoke, though her tone betrayed her true thoughts. The sheriff frowned.

“I’m sorry. Let me know when you’re ready to make the ID.” The sheriff asked. Scully nodded, and the sheet was moved back and Scully felt all of time stop.

She had a flashback, her mind taking her back to the moment she rounded the corner, and opened the door to that basement office that became a second home to her and Mulder. She remembered calling to him, and his response: _Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted._ Charming, he was not, but that was part of his appeal. He did not pretend to be something he was not. He was unabashedly himself. He had a brilliant mind that surprised and scared her. It didn’t take long to see that his talent was being wasted in the basement. But it was where he was at his happiest. She remembered the distrust he had for her that first time they met, and how it slowly melted as they experienced one of the strangest cases in her life up to that point. She thought of his smile, his laugh, his jokes, his gaze.

The flashback was over as soon as it had come, and left Scully feeling worse than she had when she heard the news. Her eyes fell on his pallid face, his eyes closed. She remembered teasing him about his stare; that he seemed to space out sometimes. He always denied it, and ribbed back that she had this habit of licking her lips. She knew she would never be able to do that without thinking of him now.

“That’s—that’s him.” She finally said, after what felt like ages. She knew only about a minute or two had passed. The sheriff handed her a clipboard to sign that she had come to verify his identity and that she was taking his things. Then she had to fill in a request for him to be shipped to DC. _Shipped, like an object._

“Does he have any family?” The sheriff asked, watching as she signed off on the forms. Scully glanced over, the word family having a particularly painful ring to it.

  _He knew he was dying. He chose to spend his last moments talking to you._

“…just me. I’m the only family he’s got.” Scully said quietly, looking at the badge the sheriff wore. The sheriff nodded, and excused himself, to make arrangements with her.

 “You told me not to cry, Mulder. Well, I’m going to have to break that promise,” Scully said softly, already feeling an eerily familiar painful sting in her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I found this recently, I didn’t realize I never posted it. It was literally 90% done, but I didn’t like the ending. Originally, it would end when Mulder hung up but I thought that was sort of abrupt.
> 
> Anyways, I’m trying to get back in the habit of writing, I’ve been struggling badly with my confidence. I want to thank Val for always encouraging me, Meg for always reading these (I hope), Katie for listening to me cry over and over about the same thing, and the kind people on tumblr who gently encouraged me.


End file.
